


you wanna ride in the six

by dhils



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, ruin mitchell’s life, y’all mind if i just
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 23:02:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16543982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dhils/pseuds/dhils
Summary: “Marty’s leaving,” Mitch says eventually, and he’s starting to hate the sound of his own voice.Naz looks at him carefully. “You don’t know that.”





	you wanna ride in the six

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to somewhat be my john tavares is finally a leaf fic but it’s november so (:
> 
> can’t say i didn’t try!
> 
> title from body by loud luxury

The moon is right outside Naz’s condo and it’s pouring this hazy white light in through the window. 

Mitch stares at it, nothing more, not entirely sure if he’s imagining the way it makes everything look a little fuzzier, or how it starts up that little buzz of a headache in his temple. It’s just. There.

“Marty’s leaving,” he says eventually, and he’s been up long enough that he’s starting to hate the sound of his own voice.

Naz looks at him carefully, and there’s something calm about the way he watches him. Relaxed and serene, as if none of them are at risk of being shipped off. “You don’t know that,” he says simply.

“And you do?” Mitch sighs, and drags a hand over the side of his face. He hates the aftertaste of beer, it’s gross and bitter on the back of his tongue. Mitch just wants everything to fade away. “People are saying shit, and—and it’s only a matter of time. There‘ve been rumours for _months_.”

“Yeah? And since when do you believe in rumours,” Naz says. He swishes the smallest bit of amber liquid left in his bottle before downing it. Mitch isn’t sure if it’s okay to watch the way his throat moves as he drinks it, but his eyes latch on anyways. He doesn’t have enough energy to protest it.

“Long enough,” he insists. It’s a lie. He hasn’t even been in this league _long enough_ , and he knows full well Naz is thinking it, he can read it in the skepticism that flashes over his face, but Naz is nice. He doesn’t say it. 

 

 

Mitch stares down Naz’s coffee machine for a good couple moments until it registers that he’s supposed to push buttons to actually get it to work for him. Naz is scrolling through his phone off to the side, an apple hanging loosely off his fingers. 

When Mitch glances over at him, Naz looks up and catches his gaze. His eyes are warm and welcoming, but Mitch can practically feel the underlying stress. There’s a lot going on, this isn’t very much like the usual mornings they spend together, when Mitch randomly shows up at Naz’s doorstep and Naz acts like his only option is to let Mitch in.

He could always turn him away, but letting Mitch figure his shit out on his own doesn’t prove to be the best choice very often. 

He breaks off to look busy with the coffee machine, tapping at the countertop, and he _swears_ he can feel his heart jump every time he hears Naz shift. So, so terrified of bad news.

And then, “Oh.”

Mitch immediately turns to look at him, feeling panic well up in his throat, choking him. “What’s _oh_? _Oh_ ’s bad. Naz, what—“ He ends up across the kitchen before he can help himself, peeking over his shoulder at his phone. Which, yeah, it’s rude, but Mitch isn’t thinking straight.

It takes a good minute for his eyes to adjust to the bright light of his phone, because the kitchen is barely lit by the soft glow of sunlight, and the text on Naz’s phone is way too damn small but—

JT signed.

 

 

It’s not like the high of signing JT has worn off, it’s still new, exciting, and part of Mitch hopes he never gets used to it. But the rest of him knows it only means they’re dropping a good bit of their roster for this. Enough of their roster that by the time October rolls around the team is going to feel empty. And, if he’s honest, Mitch hasn’t played this game long enough to know how to deal with that. 

“Maybe if you just stopped worrying for five seconds,” Naz says. And there’s always something oddly calm about him whenever it’s this early in the day. He’s a little slower, like if he relaxes maybe the rest of the world will too.

But Mitch is gushing about emotions plaguing the dark little corners of his head, pleading to be fed. He doesn’t know how to relax, not when whispers of trades and contracts are surfacing in every other direction. “This is serious,” Mitch says. “You have to take this more seriously, man. Anyone could get dropped or traded. It’s a big deal.”

“ _You_ have nothing to worry about, okay?” He plants a hand on Mitch’s shoulder and something about that makes him feel so fucking grounded, like it’s enough to keep him down on its own.

He lets out a breath and feels every shiver as it spills from his lips. “Okay,” he says, and scrubs his eye with the heel of his palm. “Okay, yeah.”

 

 

“JVR’s gone,” Naz says, a little unhelpfully. 

Mitch sighs and buries his head in his hands. The TV in on in front of them but it’s mostly just background noise. “Fuck.”

“He said it’d go public in an hour,” Naz adds. “You should call him.”

Mitch considers it, but not for long enough for it to count. He’s frustrated. At the league, at Philadelphia, at their staff, and at _himself_. Because JVR’s going back to the team that drafted him, and he’s made some goddamn Flyers fan’s entire year today, and Mitch should be happy for him. He gets that hockey’s a business and he _knows_ nothing is going to keep a team unscathed, but realizing that pieces are actually breaking off hurts. 

“Mitch,” Naz says, tugging him back to reality. His voice is soft, and Mitch doesn’t appreciate being talked to like he’s a child but he’s not going to lash out for this. 

“Not today,” Mitch tells him. “Maybe later. Maybe next week—fuck, I don’t know. I’ll text him. Comment on an instagram post.”

Naz blows out a small breath, but he doesn’t look like he’s going to protest. And maybe it’s because he’s aware Mitch knows as much, that commenting on an instagram post or tweeting him isn’t as personal as talking to him. It’s out for the public to see, for fans to get emotional over player interactions. But.

On the other hand he’s got just barely enough energy to press the side of his head up against Naz’s shoulder and glare at the TV until the screen blurs. 

 

 

Mitch isn’t sure how long he’s out, but by the time he wakes up he’s sprawled out on Naz’s couch, tucked under a quilt blanket. His shoulder is sore from sleeping on his side and the living room isn’t dark enough for Mitch to assume it’s late enough to shut his eyes and drift back off. So he blindly reaches for his phone, patting at the coffee table until his phone catches on his hand.

The screen is too bright. Mitch has over 20 unread texts from the past hour or so alone, and he’s not sure if he can handle reading anything but the previews for now. It’s not a great feeling.

He has over 20 unread texts, and not a single one is from Auston so Mitch just assumes they’re safe—him and Naz, considering how Auston’s the only one who really knows just what Mitch thinks about Naz. It was a mistake, the first time he said anything out loud, but Auston seemed unfazed. And, like, maybe it’s because he saw it coming. Maybe Mitch is too obvious. 

But that’s fine. It’s fine as long as he can keep this. 

“Hey, you’re up,” Naz says when he walks into the living room. He’s soft in sweats and a shirt, and Mitch _wants_. “I made hot chocolate, if you’re up for that. Comfort food.”

“Hot chocolate in summer?” Mitch asks, even if he’s really not the type to question Naz’s decisions. He knows best 90% of the time. 

Naz gives him this look, it’s a cross between unimpressed and a little disappointed maybe. Mitch hates the way it makes his stomach churn with anxiety. “Yeah, uh, you’re gonna need it.”

 

 

Mitch has spent entire days with Naz before, lazy afternoons and busy evenings, but this is different. Naz is like a solvent for all the bullshit popping up here and there, and Mitch _knows_ there’s more to come. He can feel it. 

He shouldn’t even be here. He should be out of Naz’s hair, letting him enjoy his break from hockey instead of pushing it back into his face. It’s not something people like, worrying about signings and trades, and Mitch isn’t usually the one fretting about that, but Naz acts like he’s used to it. And he just _understands_. 

He doesn’t question it when the clock strikes midnight and Mitch still hasn’t made a move to leave, and he’s perfectly willing to help Mitch into bed, hauling him onto the mattress with a small laugh.

It makes Mitch smile. He’s exhausted, but hearing Naz sound content is enough to get some of the tension in his shoulders to melt away. 

“Thanks,” Mitch says. He blinks up at the ceiling, trying his best to keep from saying something embarrassing, which should be easy enough. He’s survived for this long. 

“You owe me coffee in the morning,” Naz tells him lightly, and Mitch just chuckles.

 

 

Mitch has shared a bed with other guys in the past, countless times actually. It was never even anything inherently sexual, just dudes being bros and sticking it out because the heating in their hotel is shit. 

But with Naz he’s fucking aching and sick of everything, and Naz lets him press in a little closer, lets him hook their ankles together and pretend everything is okay. 

Mitch doesn’t plug his phone in before falling asleep because he half-hopes it’s dead by the morning, just so he can pretend a little more.

 

 

Mitch wakes up to grey light, birds chirping, and an all too familiar panic deep in his gut. 

He doesn’t realize that Naz’s arm is weaved around him until he tries to shift and he’s somewhat locked in place. His shoulder still feels like shit and sleep is thick in his head, but he’s awake and he isn’t sure if he wants to do anything about it. 

“Naz,” he whispers to the dull ceiling. Naz hums, right next to his ear, and Mitch lets his eyes slip shut, curling his fingers around his wrist. “Nothing, I just—thank you.”

“Go to sleep, you dumbass,” Naz says easily enough, and Mitch laughs. It’s too airy, maybe, but Naz still gives him a fond little nudge. “Rest first. Be cheesy later.”

Mitch smiles and for a minute he forgets he’s supposed to be worrying.

 

 

He doesn’t cry when Marty gets traded. 

Or, like, he doesn’t think he cries. It’s something like being hollowed out when he gets the phone call, Marty telling him, “I didn’t want you to find out through some random article adding its two cents to this. It is what it is, okay? It’ll be fine.”

And Mitch didn’t know what to say then, fuelled by emotions he didn’t even know what to do with, but now that he’s sitting in his room alone his mind’s swirling with more than enough stray thoughts. 

It’s not that he didn’t expect it, but just because he knew it was coming doesn’t mean he was prepared.

And when he calls Naz, he’s not entirely sure what he’s thinking, what to start out with, but—

“Come over,” Naz says, and that’ll be enough.

 

 

“You don’t have to deal with me all the time,” Mitch says as Naz is letting him into his place. It smells like scented candles and home. “I know I can be annoying.”

“You’re not annoying,” Naz says, which could probably be classified as lying, but Mitch takes it anyways. His mouth twists into a frown when Mitch doesn’t answer, silently toeing off his shoes. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like shit.” He means it. He wishes he didn’t, but. “I hate this.”

“Stay as long as you want.” Naz takes his hand, gives it a small squeeze. “You know I’m here for you, right?”

Mitch nods his head and pulls him in for a hug. He doesn’t feel like talking, he doesn’t know _what_ he feels like, but for now this is good.

 

 

They spend enough of the summer together that Mitch gets to watch sunspots pop up over Naz’s shoulders and face, tracing them with careful fingers like they’re nothing less than artwork.

“We’re gonna have a good season,” Naz says. His head is in Mitch’s lap and Mitch gives in to tracing his thumb over his cheekbone. 

“Yeah,” He agrees quietly, and Naz smiles up at him. He props himself up long enough to plant a kiss on Mitch’s chin before settling back down, and Mitch doesn’t realize it until Naz is laughing at him.

“Oh my god, your _face_ ,” Naz says, and he’s still laughing, burying the side of his face into his leg. 

Mitch wants to hate him, but his heart is fluttering. “Asshole.”

“But—but that was okay, right?” There’s something sincere on Naz’s face now, and honestly. Mitch probably loves him. “If I wanted to do that again.”

“Maybe,” Mitch tells him. “Your aim was off, but okay.” 

“ _Hey_.”

 

 

“This is our year,” Naz says, and the crowd is loud. Loud enough that Mitch shouldn’t be able to hear him, but he‘s right, and that’s everything.


End file.
